


Until the End of Time

by allaire mikháil (allaire)



Series: Marks [3]
Category: Babylon 5
Genre: "Shadows Past and Present" is canon, "The Price of Peace" is canon, "To Dream in the City of Sorrows" is canon, M/M, select Babylon 5 novels are canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-06-03 13:26:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19464931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allaire/pseuds/allaire%20mikh%C3%A1il
Summary: "Be not afraid. For I am with you, until the end of time."~ ValenAt the end of season 1, Jeff Sinclair gets hastily, secretly transferred off Babylon 5. He might be parsecs away from the man he has realized he is in love with, but where there's a will, there's a way.(Or, Jefftalksdoesn't talk to people about Michael.)





	1. Stranger in a strange Land

Sinclair was healthily sick of all the waiting areas to the various senators' offices in Earthdome in Geneva. He'd been sent from aides to secretaries to chiefs of staff, but somehow he'd failed to garner an actual meeting with anyone of importance. He constantly got assured that the committee overseeing the Babylon Project urgently needed to talk to him, yet the senators that belonged to it never seemed to be in the building.

He'd arrived around dawn. 18 hours later - the last couple of staffers were packing up in order to leave for the day - he'd had it. He marched over to the apologetic secretary who'd been unable to get him as much as a vid call with Senator Hidoshi and informed her curtly that he planned to find a bed for the night and would be back at 08:00 the next day.

What he didn't say was that he intended to find a comm terminal - Earthforce or commercial - with an off-planet planet link-up in order to call Babylon 5 and find out how Michael was doing.

Somehow he couldn't help but smell a rat when he almost bodily collided with someone in Earthforce blue at the exit - someone he knew, at that.

"Jeffrey! Long time no see! What are you doing back home?" The shoulder-clap, the jovial greeting and generally the presence of one of his least liked colleagues from his days as an instructor at the Academy set his teeth on edge.

Lt. Commander Bruce Davids was an acquired taste. One that Sinclair had never developed. Blond, slick, good-looking, with a ruthless streak a mile wide. Also, aide to General Hague of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, if Sinclair wasn't mistaken. What an incredible coincidence.

Unfortunately, he didn't manage to give Davids the slip, couldn't even get out of accepting his offer to let him bunk at his pad for the night... and he _did_ try. Davids insisted on introducing him to his wife - a cool brunette whose reasons for marrying her husband seemed to be much more complex than simple infatuation - and then drew him into a night of nostalgic reminiscences about the 'good old days'. Sinclair gritted his teeth and endured. He promised himself he'd call back home before going to sleep. Come hell or high water.

Missing Michael, and even worse, the damned uncertainty about how he was doing, had been sitting like a stone in his stomach ever since he'd boarded that transport off Babylon 5. He refused to give in to his worst fears. Michael would wake up. Soon. There was simply no other outcome imaginable.

Unfortunately, Sinclair didn't get the opportunity to find a commercial terminal when the EA one next to Daniels' appartment refused to accept his security code for access to a gold channel. Davids claimed he'd just reset his own and couldn't remember it. Sinclair almost rolled his eyes at that. Damned likely.

He resolved to make a scene at Earthdome the next day if he was given the merry-go-round _again_. The 'coincidences' were adding up to an alarming degree. Did they think him either stupid or blindly obedient?


	2. Getting creative

Sinclair repeated his Earthforce security code for access to a gold channel, but the comm terminal still insisted that the code was incorrect.

He gritted his teeth and felt only resignation rather than the burning fury that had sustained him through another interminable day of senseless waiting. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t made a nuisance out of himself at tech services today. They’d finally agreed to reset his code, but of course hadn’t had a terminal available for a trial run. _Sure._

Thankfully, the long wait had allowed him to think through several scenarios and possible solutions to something he suspected was going to be an on-going problem. Clearly, EarthGov had no intention of letting him contact Babylon 5 for the time being.

Well, Sinclair wasn’t a man accustomed to accepting defeat.

Halfway to Geneva’s historical city center, he found a commercial comm terminal. Unsurprisingly, his identicard was rejected, so it didn’t matter that his creditchit would have – should have – let him use the off-planet link-up for _days_. Fortunately, calling a comm extension _on Earth_ didn’t require identification, just the credits to pay for it.

There was only a single option. For obvious reasons he couldn't pick Earthforce personnel, and most of his and Michael's friends were off-world.

His call went through and was picked up quickly despite the late hour.

“Mr. Smith, you don’t know me, but—“

The man at the other end of the comm signal interrupted him, disquiet spreading over his face: “I _do_ know you, Commander. You’re Mike’s friend. Why are you calling? Is he alright?”

Sinclair breathed out shakily and explained what had happened to Garibaldi, closing with: “When I left Babylon 5 two days ago, he was still unconscious. I have no idea what exactly is behind me being recalled to Earth in a hurry, but I don’t like that someone seems to want to keep me cut off from B5. I get denied access to any means that would allow me to call home. Since the direct way doesn’t work, I thought about approaching the problem sideways.”

“And you remembered me although we’ve never met. I’m flattered,” Walker Smith said dryly. A pause followed. Sinclair, already uncomfortable, found himself reading various things into it, none of them particularly friendly. Still, he was desperate enough he couldn’t even entertain the thought of terminating the call.

Earth’s most well-known boxer sighed. “Am I thrilled about getting in the middle of whatever is dogging your heels, Commander? Nah. It has ‘trouble’ written all over it. My life’s finally back on track. A lot of that I owe to Mike. Which means I can’t turn you away. So call me to record your messages to him. I’ll forward them all cloak-and-dagger like. Don’t worry about the credits; we’ll settle it whenever.”

Sinclair felt his breath escape him in a rush and had to grip the console to stay upright, his knees having turned to water in relief. “Thank you, Mr. Smith. I can’t even begin to tell you—“

“Save it.” the man declared. “I’ve always wondered what made him stick with you, but at least I can see it’s mutual. I’ll do you one better and call the station myself; try to find out how he’s doing.”

They arranged the details and then Sinclair was left with a blank screen and a system set to record. He tried to smile, imagined Michael watching. “Hello, Mike.”


	3. A secret Meeting

The late hour, the abrupt wake-up call, the escort to the presidential office at EarthGov and finally a direct meeting with the President were all intended to overwhelm him, Sinclair knew. Someone hadn't done their homework. Apparently they'd forgotten that three years ago, he'd been briefed, in detail, on what running Babylon 5 would entail; a briefing that had included President Santiago.

He was thrown for a different reason and couldn't seem to gather his thoughts, but that was entirely due to Satai Rathenn and the mind-blowing news he'd delivered.

Oh, subconsciously Sinclair had known for a long time that he’d been captured, tortured and interrogated by the Minbari.

Since the cybernet, he’d regained flashes of grey-robed figures – the Grey Council – testing him with a triangle-shaped device that seemingly had a glowing star at its center. Thanks to the device – Rathenn had called it a 'triluminary' –, now his memories of the entire 24 hours were back.

Supposedly the triluminary had proven that he was carrying the reincarnation of a Minbari soul. He wanted to scoff at the idea of souls being identified and measured like this, his own experiences with the soul hunter and his collection notwithstanding.

But the Minbari believed it. Enough to want him to give up everything of his previous life and move 'home' to Minbar.

Was the ambassadorial position even real? Or was it just a sop for the gullible Earther?

As little as he'd liked President Clark and the circumstances of his abrupt recall to Earth, in one thing the president was entirely correct – if the position was real, it might very well be _the_ most important job a human had ever held regarding Earth's relationship with the Minbari. He couldn't in good conscience decline, and the President very well knew it.

He had fight to remain impassive at the glint in President Clark's eyes when the man promised him a honorable discharge with full retirement pay. What a farce. Not surprisingly, 'anything he wanted' didn't include a promise he could return to commanding B5.

Sinclair felt as though he'd fallen among enemies. On one side, Rathenn and the Grey Council, trying to reorder his life as though he was a chess piece. On the other, Clark and EarthGov manipulating him by isolating him and playing on his character in order to get him to follow their plans for his future.

Delenn, who he'd considered a friend, had lied to him for years. She was, or at least she had been, a member of the Grey Council, and instrumental in the Minbari's plans for him since 2248.

When President Clark assured Sinclair that he would be informed of Michael's condition at all times, that Susan would be promoted, that the station would be in good hands, he wanted to believe the words so badly.

There was only one way forward, and at least in part, Sinclair had only himself to blame. David and Gemma Gildea Sinclair had raised their son in the family tradition of protecting and serving their home, their planet with honor.

Earth and Minbar needed a better, a closer relationship than just neutrality and a détente.

So Sinclair agreed to become Earth's ambassador to Minbar.

He knew better than to question the unofficial order to keep him in isolation. He shook Clark's hand and didn't mention a word about his 'accidentally' restricted comm privileges.

He longed to see Michael's face, to talk to him. Recording a message for him via Walker Smith's comm would have to do.


	4. In Flux

Punctual despite his reluctance, Sinclair stepped on board of the Earth Alliance shuttle _Icarus_ at spaceport 022 on January 15th for the transfer to the cruiser EAS _Solaris_ which was in turn supposed to bring him to Minbar.

He’d spent the last nine days in a condensed briefing on his ambassadorial duties and responsibilties in an EarthGov facility also located in Geneva, but far away from the iconic sight of Earthdome.

The workload had been ridiculous. He'd been kept busy for 12 to 14-hour-days and still felt woefully unprepared for his position as the Earth Alliance's ambassador to Yedor, Minbar's capital city. The Minbari had presumably prepared a location for the embassy, and Sinclair was supposed to pick his own support personnel once he'd familarized himself with the requirements of his office on-site.

The fact that he'd been essentially denied a staff for the duration of the embassy's founding period didn't sit well with him.

Was it paranoia, he wondered, if the lack of experienced personnel of the diplomatic corps set off alarm bells in his mind?

Michael would be telling him it wasn't paranoia if someone was out to get him, wouldn't he?

He smiled a little to himself, but it was bittersweet at best. Yesterday, he'd recorded another message for Michael, possibly the last for a while. According to Walker Smith, Michael still hadn't regained consciousness.

Who knew when he'd be able to find a way to call off-world once he'd landed on Minbar? He had no doubt he'd have instant access to whatever division of EarthGov was supposed to oversee his new posting, but after all the hassle on Earth, a free gold channel to Babylon 5 sounded like a pipe dream.

What would be awaiting him on Minbar? No matter the president's flattering words, Sinclair was far too aware that his command of the Minbari language was only rudimentary and pretty much limited to the religious caste's dialect. He'd read a lot about Minbari customs and religion. Still, he doubted it would be sufficient to move in an alien culture without offending a race that sometimes appeared only too willing to _be_ offended, if Neroon was any indication.

The Minbari who awaited him on the shuttle was tall, thin and, judging by the lack of an accent at the tradition greeting in Adronato, a member of the religious caste. “My name is Racine, Commander Sinclair.”

Sinclair winced. The mention of his rank only pointed out how distanced he'd soon be from his days in Earthforce blue. Despite the official plans that had been made, he knew his first stop wouldn't be Yedor, but rather a Minbari flyer that would bring him to the secret location of the cruiser that was home to the Grey Council. After his introductory speech to Minbar's nine leaders, if everything went well, he'd be donning civilian clothes and be addressed as 'ambassador'.

“Is there anything I can help you with, Commander Sinclair, before we reach the transfer point?” Racine inquired politely.

Sinclair felt the mad urge to ask for a free channel to Babylon 5, just to see how his... guide? aide? watchdog?... would react, but decided to not draw attention to the weight of his need to reestablish contact with his friends.

 _Don't dissemble, Jeff, with_ Michael.

Michael simply _had_ to wake up soon.


	5. Half the Night

He scrubbed his hand over his face, catching on his stubble, and felt like falling asleep right here on the spot, his back against the door, his dark, unexplored quarters looming in front of him.

But needs must. And there was no-one here to take over.

"Computer, lights," Sinclair ordered firmly. Nothing happened.

He groaned. Right. Of course his new quarters in the building housing the Earth Alliance's embassy on Yedor would conform to the Minbari's preference for spartan, low-technology, we-might-as-well-live-in-a-monastery-during-the-Middle-Ages _crap_. The two Minbari - servants? - who'd ducked out of the very door he was now leaning against finally made sense.

At least they'd lit a small... what was it? He carefully crept forward towards the low, flickering light in what seemed to be another room. A brazier with odd, smokeless coals in it was spreading a dim radius of light onto a bench, a chest, and an upright metal sheet about the size and width of a person.

He picked up the brazier to explore further.

Half an hour later, he sat down on the bench with a huff. The metal sheet appeared to be the Minbari's concept of a bed. It refused to lock in place in a horizontal fashion. There were no pillows or blankets anywhere. There were towels in the bathroom, but not a lot of them. The shower was impressive - it looked like a natural waterfall feeding a rock pool -, but the room appeared to miss a ceiling. According to his research, Minbar could get very, very cold in winter. What would happen when it snowed? Stormed? Rained? Was he supposed to shower or relieve himself there even when it was freezing?

He sighed again, then grabbed the three towels he'd taken from the bathroom and curled up on the bench.

His mind refused to quiet down. When he found himself reviewing his actions in front of the Tribunal _again_ , he firmly told his brain to shut up and instead recalled the utter boredom, and yet comfort and safety, he'd felt during those interminable three hours in the shuttle with Michael on the way to Sector 14 towards the reemerged Babylon 4. 

Despite the excitement of the last couple of days, the new environment and the discomfort of the hard, narrow bench, he fell asleep with a smile.

Only to find himself back on the Line, of course. 

_"He's gone," Bill Mitchell's voice, carrying a faint reproach, seemed to be whispering those fateful words right into Jeff's ear._

_He hit the comm button as fast as he could, despite the feeling of doom clawing at this stomach, and ordered: "Stay in formation. Hold the line. No one gets through, no matter what!" Mitchell acknowledged, but continued almost in the same breath: "Alpha Leader, you've got a Minbari on your tail. I'm on him." Jeff turned his head and saw Mitchell's starfury veering out of formation towards Jeff's pursuing attacker._

_He wasn't the only one. He distantly recognized each and every vessel leaving their assigned places, but his eyes didn't seem able to look away from the ship directly in Mitchell's wake. With the logic of dreams, he_ knew _with absolute certainty that it belonged to Michael Garibaldi._

_"No, Michael! Mitchell. Stay in formation! It might be a..." The jump point opened. "Oh my god, it's a trap!" A Minbari cruiser materialized, loomed in front of them like a personification of death. "Break off, break off!" His throat burned, but his yell couldn't stop the inevitable. Pulsar and laser fire lit up the darkness of space. The net of criss-crossing lines was almost beautiful, but where the lines intersected with a ship, an explosion blotted out the stars._

_Michael's voice was almost conversational. "Jeff, I'm so sorry." His starfury blew up in slow motion._

"Nooo!" Sinclair sat up on the bench, drenched in sweat.

The feeling of abject loss stayed with him and didn't let him fall back asleep until a Minbari by the name of Venak came by, two unsmiling helpers in his wake bearing breakfast.


End file.
